


Hello

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (sort of), Ghost Tour, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6103393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two guys meet on a ghost tour. Can I make it anymore obvious?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello

**Author's Note:**

  * For [languageismymistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/languageismymistress/gifts).



> Grim Fucking Ghosts is definitely underway Scarlet, but this decided to interrupt their little hayride. I don't even know what tf this is supposed to be—p sure I literally just invented a whole new depth of trash.
> 
> This was also inspired by a Musketeers fanfiction, but I can't find it. I know it's an Athos/Porthos fic; I don't actually ship that, but the plot was funny and entertaining. If any of you are also in the Musketeers fandom and are reminded of that fic, please let me know what it is so I can link it! Thanks!

Len will say that Lisa's idea of bringing her girlfriend to a ghost tour in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere's a good strategy. Caitlin Snow's pre-med, but she's expressed her clear dislike when it comes to horror of any kind. Yet, what Lisa wants, Lisa gets.

Len likes Caitlin. She's a nice girl, but doesn't take bullshit. Clearly adores Lisa, wants to make her happy. If that means going on a ghost tour with her for Halloween, then so be it.

(He's almost certain she knows what's going on at their house. Looks like she wants to bring it up sometimes, but one look at Lisa and she reluctantly quiets down. Smart girl. Another reason why Len likes her.)

The ghost tour isn't  _exactly_ in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere; as if Lewis would let his kids go that far. Feels like Buttfuck, Nowhere though, considering it's a good few miles outside of Central, along the old farmlands. It's a property owner's old manor, one of the last ones standing. A Victorian beauty that must have been absolutely gorgeous in its prime, with faded light green sliding and darker green shingles on the roofs. There's one turret on the left, with an A-roof connected to a mansard, wrought iron fence bordering the top. Moth-eaten curtains twitch as actors rush by as a premature scare; it works like a charm on Caitlin.

Lisa's grinning, very pleased with herself. "Don't worry baby," she purrs, slinking an arm around her girlfriend's shoulders, "I'll protect you."

Caitlin offers a feeble smile. "I know," she says, not a trace of doubt in her voice. Lisa's face brightens.

Even Len has to admit she's good for his sister. As a favor to them, he fades into the back of the small group, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. Despite his current surroundings, it's nice to be out at night. That is, it's nice to be out without his dad breathing down his neck to get a job done, or beckoning to strangers so his sister can have a nice dinner. Maybe he can enjoy himself too.

"You don't look like the type for this sorta thing."

Len doesn't give a start. He'd sensed the looming presence before the man spoke. "And what would that type look like?"

He turns his head. This stranger's about his height, although his muscle makes him seem bigger than Len. He's dressed in a dirty shirt and overalls with mud-caked boots. His eyes show a measure of quiet intelligence under spark of amusement.

This man dips his chin at a few people in front of them. "Like that."

Ah, yes. The group of four with their cameras and excited whispers about real ghosts. Len smirks.

"How do you know I don't have a camera in my coat?" he asks. The man merely raises an eyebrow. Len returns to staring ahead. "True. Although, you don't seem to be the type for 'this sort of thing' either."

"I'm part of the act," the man replies, "thought I'd sneak in for a few laughs before my cue."

"You're an actor?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Snowflake."  _Snowflake_? As if he sees the thought on Len's face, the man smirks right back at him and adds, "All dressed in fancy blue with your cold face? Yeah, Snowflake."

Len doesn't know why, but he says, "I prefer Len, Farmer Boy."

A snort. "An' I prefer Mick,  _Len_."

Mick doesn't reach for Len's hand to shake. Len decides he'll talk to him a while longer.

"'m not an actor by choice," Mick admits as the tour officially begins, "my family roped me into it. Said I should 'get off my ass and do something'."

Len's face twitches in a grimace before smoothing over again. "I know the feeling."

"Yeah," Mick replies, like he knows exactly what Len's implying. Len side-eyes him, assessing. On the surface he doesn't look like much, just a muscled guy with his arms crossed. But that intelligence Len sees...this one shouldn't be underestimated.

"So what exactly are you supposed to do,  _Mick_?" Len asks at length.

Mick bares his teeth in an excited grin. "Once y'get outside, I get to set somethin' on fire."

Another spark in his eyes. Len raises an eyebrow. "You like fire?"

"Fire is undefinable," Mick immediately responds, suddenly choked with admiration, "it's been the key to everything since humans discovered it. Absolutely beautiful." Looking at Len with wide, wild eyes, "It's an evolution when things burn."

Great. A pyromaniac. Just Len's luck.

Keeping his cool, Len gives him a wry smirk. "Hope you don't plan on setting anything on fire in here. My sister's up front."

His lungs seize. Why the  _fuck_ did he mention his connection to Lisa?

Mick, however, seems to either ignore his comment completely or (more likely) silently absorb it while he speaks: "Already did that once. My mother wasn't too happy with me."

"Why weren't you fired?"

Amazingly, Mick gets Len's subtle pun. "Fire and I have an understanding,  _Len_." he rolls up his sleeve, revealing burn marks all up his arms. Len hums. "And my family's been here a long time, takin' care of the place."

"No offense, but your family didn't do a very good job."

Mick chuckles, "Keep tellin' 'em that."

Hm. This one is interesting.

Meanwhile, the first "ghost" has appeared. Len'd been listening with half an ear; this is Amelia, just Amelia, a woman who supposedly went suddenly mad one day after finding out her husband had an affair. She's known as this manor's Woman in White, killing her children before taking her own life. It's a modern day love story, Len thinks wryly.

Caitlin lets out a faint gasp as "Amelia" falls to her death; Lisa holds her tighter. She needn't have worried; Amelia's saved by what Len sees is a harness. He will say, however, that the crew was good at hiding whatever she's attached to. Len thinks he sees a faint outline of something.

"Charming," he mutters.

Mick grunts, "Gives you a jump."

Len blinks. The other man looks entirely too smug for him to have misheard, something he never does anyway.

"How long until we get outside?" he asks.

Mick grins. "Why? Don' want me to go?"

"Just making conversation, Mick."

"'Course you were, Snowflake." Len bristles. "You gotta 'bout an hour. This tour's long 's fuck."

They stick together, keep talking in low voices. Len makes puns about the ghosts; Mick comes up with his own. It's so  _odd_ for Len to be at ease with someone he's just met. He would almost enjoy it if he wasn't so inherently skeptical. For a pyromaniac, Mick is easy for Len to like. Strange.

The hour flashes by all too soon. Len keeps track of it the entire time out of force of habit, yet it ticks away faster than he expected. He feels like he does when solving puzzles and planning things. Never thought he'd encounter that with a  _person_.

Yet here Mick stands.

At the forty-five minute point, Mick retrieves a lighter from his pocket, devious smirk melting onto his face.

"Gotta go," he grunts, "see yah on the other side."

To Len's infinite surprise, he leaves with a kiss. But what's truly shocking is how _warm_ Mick's lips are.

The group encounters one more ghost before stepping outside, and that's in the solarium. Anthony Rory, the last owner of the manor, who inherited it through clandestine means, shot himself after his children and wife burned alive in a fire said to be deliberately set. Len predicts Mick's role as the arsonist who murdered the family.

In a way, he's not wrong.

The group is taken outside, where their guide claps his hands together and announces, "That is all I have for you tonight!" Len smirks. So it's gonna be one of  _those_ finales, where the tour guide acts all surprised by the sudden appearance of another ghost. "If you would kindly follow me, I'll take you back to the fro—"

A chill whips through the air. Yet it's not exactly a chill—feels warmer, though it causes everyone to shiver. Which, considering the autumn cold, is...weird. Len doesn't hear any fans going off, nor does he see any sort of tech anywhere.

Abruptly, Mick's laughter takes the air, echoing throughout the withered back gardens. He appears, seemingly out of nowhere, savage grin on his face and fire in his eyes.

Wait. How—? There is  _fire_ in his eyes. Flaming behind his teeth, too, and—his whole body is igniting.

Len tears his eyes away to look at the tour guide. The expression on the young man's face is too pale, too frightened, to be fake. Len knows when someone is lying; this guy isn't.

Mick is not part of the act.

"Fire and Ice!" whispers one of the fanatics, "They haven't been seen in over two centuries!"

"But where's Ice?" demands another.

Len's breath quickens. This has to be a joke. Has to be. The alternative makes no logical sense.

The fanatics are still talking:

"Ice hasn't been seen in longer."

"What happened?"

"How should I know? Why don't you ask the Burning Man?"

As if on cue, Mick yells, "Well, piggies—who wants to fry first?"

Caitlin screams. The piercing sound springs everyone into action. Like mice, they scatter in different directions. But Mick has a deadly aim; within seconds, he's trapped all of them in a flaming circle.

All but Len, who finds himself frozen on the spot.

"So nice of you all to volunteer!" Mick cackles.

Frozen...frozen...can't move...can't move— _frozen in the tub, why Mom, why-why-why_ _, helpless, so helpless, drugged, frozen, can't move, can't **breathe** —dead._

Dead.

Dead?

Desperate, Len searches for his sister, but—that's not Lisa. That's not Caitlin, either.

Of course not. They died. Lisa with him, Caitlin following her—how could he not see—?

Frozenfrozenfrozen—ice crackles. This time, the chill in the air is enough to turn someone's fingers purple.

Len breathes through his nose. Settling.

He'd forgotten again.

" _Mick_."

Mick pauses. When he takes him in, he laughs once more, louder and longer. Jubilant. "That you, Lenny?"

Len walks down the five steps leading to the walkway. "You lost your cool again."

"Not my fault he hasn't been around."

He has a point, loathe as Len is to acknowledge it. With a flick of his wrist, Mick's circle becomes nothing but steam. "That's true. But what have I told you about killing civilians? We don't need the heat."

The tourists scatter again.

Mick growls, "Every time you come back to yourself, yah ruin my fun."

"Chill out," Len smirks, "I never said anything about intruders."

Walls of ice block every exit from the gardens.

"Give me a proper hello, Mick, and I might just let you burn them."

Mick barks a throaty laugh and tugs Len forward. Len bites into his mouth, creating fractals along Mick's skin just as Mick scorches the back of his neck. Steam hisses from their contact; it's a glorious as always, almost worth what happens before.

Fire and Ice. What a cute little moniker. A bit unoriginal—they'll have to fix that.

"Leave one alive," he orders against Mick's chin, licking his way up to a burnt ear, "we'll split the difference. I want to stretch my legs."

Mick rumbles a pleased sound. "Then I can burn some stuff now?"

Leaving one last, lingering kiss, Len murmurs, "I wish you would."

* * *

Cold and Heat Wave.  _Much_ better.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I don't know either.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
